


ripped open

by eightinthemourning



Category: South Park
Genre: Chaptered, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Depression, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, dont read it if u dont like sad shit, high school is a weird time idk, im sorry this is sad, k2 as a side ship, they're all seniors btw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 19:43:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11812896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eightinthemourning/pseuds/eightinthemourning
Summary: rip it open, do it now.//basically tweek is messed up but craig is there (he's always there.) love is a weird thing and craig wants to rip it open whilst tweek would rather rip himself open. but sometimes things don't always need to be pulled apart to set something free.





	ripped open

**Author's Note:**

> this story kinda reflects my own life a little so idk enjoy i suppose lol

He sits alone on the carpet of his living room floor for twenty minutes, grasping the fibers in his palm. _Don’t cut. Don't use. Feel the rug. The rug is here. I’m touching the rug._

//

 

“I’m just going to look,” He says to himself. He opens the cabinet in the bathroom and holds the razor in his hand. _Look at it. Shiny, hard, cold, soft. Sharp in all the right places._

Blood, skin ripping open. Red liquid expelling, deep crimson red, all lovely and open. _Open. Open. Open._

 

//

 

“Open the door, Tweek.”

 

_Craig?_

 

//

“What are you doing?!” The door gives in, and Craig’s voice is a distant shadow with it. Tweek is staring at his arms in a trance, his skin is purple around the edges of the slashes cut deep into his wrists. _Remember the rug. The fibers. Ripped so easily from where they’re weaved in. The strings of thread, pulled so tight. Finally open._

//

The next thing he hears is somewhat of an echo in the back of his mind. Police cars in his vision are all but blurs mixed into the background. Is somebody crying? “Tweek, _hey_ , please stay with me, please.” _Rugs. Perfect things to hide other things underneath. Rip open. Rip the seams. Rip. Open._

 

//

“We live in agony, Craig. There is nothing here for us. What is living… I mean what is the point of living if I can’t rip it open.” There’s a silence. Before all this happened there were beautiful long periods of silence down by Stark’s pond.

“Rip what open?”

//

Craig never knew what Tweek meant until now. Sitting there, by his hospital bed seeing his friends flesh ripped, only to be stitched together. He never let anybody else in to see, not that anybody ever showed up though. Visiting hours didn’t apply to him, the nurses knew that. Tweek liked to watch that stuff. He saw the needles and thread pierce through him, he watched with so much happiness in his eyes. But he didn’t speak, he didn’t look at Craig. Then after it was all over, he slept. Like a damn baby, as if nothing had happened at all.

Where were his fucking parents?

//

“Is that why you never let me in?” Craig asked, Tweek woke up here and there. He didn’t know why he asked, but he needed some fucking answers. Anything at all. Even a simple yes or no would suffice.

 

“They left months ago.” He replied simply.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me Tweek? I could’ve helped you. I could’ve done something… Anything, you didn’t have to do this.”

 

“There was nothing you could have done.”

 

//

Anger is an old friend that Craig greets with a nod. They go hand in hand. He only leaves the hospital to stand outside with a package of cigarettes in his hand, rage controlling him. He doesn’t even want to smoke but in the end he always wonders why they never last. It feels like he’s stomping them out only to light another, and then another, and _another…_

//

 

Tweek’s heart isn’t strong. He’s lost a lot of blood in the midst of trying to end his life. That’s the thing though, it wasn’t enough. He didn’t lose enough. Sometimes nothing is ever enough. He looks around the hospital room, the beeping from the machines he’s attached to sound like they come from another room and not his own. _Is he really here?_

 

“Craig?” Except Craig isn’t there either.

 

//

“He woke up asking for you.” The nurse’s lips are down, turned into her olive skin, she moves a strand of dark hair out of her eyes before she continues. “Are you his boyfriend? I haven’t seen anybody else around for him.”

“No.” Craig looks at Tweek through the window outside his room instead of the nurse who is wondering what to tell the doctor.

“Just his friend.”

 

_Rip it open, Craig. Do it now._

 

//

Tweek’s house is empty. Not a single soul moves about it. Coffee stains litter the counter, cups are piled high in the sink with traces of the blond’s DNA. But nobody is there to look. The rug sits, just as it always had in the middle of the living room. Strands stick out from the certain spot where it was violently tugged at. Underneath lies something Tweek doesn’t need or want anybody to find.

//

 

“Did you know he took drugs?” This doctor has a meaner face, all scrunched up and his nose juts out in an angular fashion. Craig doesn’t know what to say. He never does. He looks at the man in front of him, then to Tweek, who’s passed out again. What can he do? What does he say?

_Rip it open, Craig. Do it now._

 

//

 

“Tweek.” His voice is stern and he’s sick and tired of waiting. Waiting for Tweek to come out of his frequent hazes, waiting for him to open his eyes. Waiting for him to confess how he feels. It’s been years. Why can’t he just tell him?

“Wake up.” He orders again, but his words bounce off the four walls that surround them both. “You didn’t need to do this Tweek.”

 

//

 

“We’re all _alone._ All of us.”

 

“That’s not true.” It was a habit of Craig’s to disagree with whatever Tweek said. Maybe he should have agreed. He wants to go back. Back to Tweek’s bed where they listened to music by sharing headphones, back to where they almost kissed.

“Sorry, Jesus… Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Craig told him back then, back before this. Was it okay?

 

If only he leaned in a little closer.

 

//

 

“Craig?”

The sound of a magazine closes and in Tweek’s brain it feels like a door just slammed, he winces, squints through the hospital lights and then… He smiles. Craig’s hand is on his shoulder and the boy is close enough. Finally, something is enough. This is enough.

“How do you feel?”

“Am I on morphine?” He can’t even feel his lips move, but he knows that he said the words.

“Yeah, you are.”

“Then I feel okay.”

Craig’s eyes sadden at the response, then he glances at Tweek’s arms before he’s interrupted by the same voice that called him at four a.m. some days.

“Don’t look.” Tweek says, he’s weak and his face is an odd off white color. “It will only make it worse.”

 

_Rip it open, Craig. Do it now._

 

//

 

“I fucking love you, okay? There. I told you.” Craig is sitting beside the boy, in the hospital bed. There’s room for the two of them if Craig takes off his shoes. He know’s Tweek is asleep, but he needed to say it anyway. “And not like, in a friend way. In a really big and obvious way. Can’t you see that?”

“Everybody else see’s it, Tweek.”

 

//

Warm August slowly drifts into September, and it is discovered that Tweek’s parents had drugged him his whole life. Police search the house. They find what’s been lurking underneath the rug for all these years. It’s almost a relief, knowing Tweek didn’t mean to get addicted. It wasn’t his fault.

 

_Rip it open, Craig. Do it now._

//

“So the NA meetings are… Going well?”

Tweek looks terrible, but Craig would never comment on that. After all, he did just find out that his parents were sentenced to life in prison and that he’s actually not crazy. Not crazy. Just a cocaine addict.

“Yeah they’re um… Something else, I guess.” Tweek wants it. Wants it bad. He knows this isn’t his fault, which is good, and he finally knows what’s the matter with him, which is also helpful. But… He misses it. He can almost feel the strands of the rug between his fingers, gripping at it with desperation.

 

//

“I want it now. Fuck! If you don’t give it to me I will fucking _kill_ somebody! Do you understand? Fuck this place! Fuck you people!”

The flowers in Craig’s hands are now being squeezed tight, watching as his friend is dragged out of his room in the ward. He knows where they’re taking him, tears form in his eyes as he hears the metal door shut behind the doctors and Tweek. The receptionist is weary, she looks like she hasn’t slept in literal years, but she takes the flowers and says she’ll give them to Tweek. That’s good enough.

//

The only thing about this is that when Craig goes home, away from the hospital, his grades are slipping and his family keeps wondering where he goes all day. Calls from the school multiply, skipped detentions seem to be an ever growing occurrence, but he cannot miss seeing Tweek. He loves him. No matter what he’s going through… He does. He loves him too much to let go. When November rolls around, he feels like he needs to do something about it.

 

_Rip it open, Craig. Do it soon._


End file.
